


Learned Behaviour

by msbayne (Knaija)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha!Peter, Kidnapping, Punishment, Spark!Stiles, Training, evil!derek, evil!peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 21:57:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10545006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knaija/pseuds/msbayne
Summary: Derek kidnaps Stiles for Peter





	

**Author's Note:**

> I always imagine what would happen if magical people couldn't "mistakenly" do magic at a desperate time of need. Like he you were going to die and you wee magic and didn't know how to use magic, you'd still just die... because you didn't know how. Not like the magic would just suddenly show up and save the day???

Stiles woke up in darkness, not completely sure his eyes were even open. He had to hold his nose from the offensive stench that slapped at him as he heard the sound of water dripping a little way off. As he took a step closer in its direction, he noticed the dark silhouette of a man standing with his feet ajar as a stream ran from between his legs to the floor.

"Hey!" He shouted, startling the man into halting his ease as he stumbled backwards. "HEY! WHERE AM I? GET ME OUT OF HERE."

"You're awake?" The man said. "Jackson, the prisoner's awake. Call the Alpha."

_Prisoner?_

"I'm not a prisoner. GET ME OUT OF HERE."

He started to walk closer to the man when he felt a hard sting on both him wrists pulling him back. He hissed in pain as he noticed he was bound to the ground and could go no further.

"I'M NOT A PRISONER!" He shouted. "You got the wrong person."

But no one answered him anymore. The peeing man had vanished after he noticed he was awake and his friend was nowhere to be found.

Stiles tugged at the chains, imagining that sheer will was going to be enough to break them. He pulled at one and then the other and then both at the same time. He succeeded in giving himself blisters.

Soon, he heard rushed footsteps coming closer and closer and so he stood, awaiting their arrival. As they got closer, they stopped, shinning torches on the prison bars Stiles had not realized stood between him and the peeing man. The door opened and even though he could tell more people stood outside, only two people walked in.

Two  men.

The man, whom Stiles assumed was _the alpha_ , waltzed into the cell, followed by his long cloak as Stiles averted him gaze at the fact that he not only let the cloak roam loose but wore nothing but a tiny pair of knickers underneath. When he spotted Stiles, he stopped short, turning round to look at the other man behind him with his hands on his waist.

"Derek, what the hell?" He asked.

"Peter-" The man named Derek began.

"This isn't what I asked for. I specifically said-"

"What you asked for?" Stiles asked, angrily, turning back his head, no longer worried about the alpha’s decency. "Did you just call me ‘what’?"

"You'll speak when you're spoken-" Peter began.

"GET THESE ABOMINABLE CUFFS OFF ME!" He screamed, as Peter stumbled away from him in confusion.

"I tried to warn you, alpha." Derek said. "He's a bit of a wild spirit."

"Wild spirit?” Stiles asked, feeling insulted. “My father is the Sheriff."

"Your father has to find you first." Peter told him.

"Where am I?" He asked, feeling worry set in.

"I'm not telling you." Peter said.

"I'm going to kill you." Stiles said, looking him right in the eye to make sure the man before him understood that Stiles meant every word.

Peter renewed his confused demeanor, retreating to Derek.

"Why does he keep talking to me like that?" He asked, genuinely concerned. "This wasn't even what I asked for?"

"Stop calling me ‘what’." Stiles said.

"That's what I was trying to tell you, Peter. The girl we were tracking escaped when we tried to load her into the boat. When I went after her, I found him instead."

"And?" Peter asked.

"He's something different. Just go near him and see."

"Derek," Peter said. "You're not supposed to use your discretion when I send you out. That's why I always send Malia out on these things."

"Just step closer. He's awake now so you can't feel it from so far away."

Shaking his head, Peter started towards Stiles and when he was a couple of feet from him, he stopped straight like he had just walked into a wall, turning away from Stiles with his hand over his face.

Stiles was shocked by his reaction because he could see no wall between them.

"What is it?" Stiles asked, looking around him. He moved forward again and got stopped by the chains again.

"What are you?" Peter asked, looking at Stiles with fascination in his eyes. "Is… is that… are you magic?"

Stiles watched Peter approach him, this time with more caution, step by step. When Peter got closer, he trembled a little, stretching his hand ahead of him as if to test his way. His eyes fell closed as if to savor the moment as his mouth slacked in pleasure.

"What are you doing?" Stiles asked but he did not answer.

Peter stopped short of him, opening his eyes.

"Remarkable." He said.

 _Remarkable?_ Stiles asked himself. _I'll show you, remarkable._

Stiles grabbed Peter’s cloak and drove his forehead into Peter’s own, as pain shot through his body from his head and he recoiled. When he looked up, Peter regarded him with in barely contained distaste.

"You're going to regret that."

"You're going to regret kidnapping me." Stiles retorted, holding his aching head as he staggered back to the all.

"Break his arm." Peter said.

"With pleasure."

Stiles could not believe they were really going to try. As Derek approached him, he shifted, pushing at Derek from behind but Derek recovered too quick for Stiles that he caught Stiles' right arm and hit his elbow from behind. Stiles cried as he knelt on the ground with his right arm bent upward and part of it still in Derek's hand. Derek let the hand fall to the ground as Stiles nearly died from the pain.

"Do you want me to relieve the pain?" Peter asked, squatting in front of him.

"G-go to h-hell!" He choked.

"Okay!" Peter tossed, walking out of the cell.

"Peter?" Derek called after him. "Peter."

"Just leave him there."

Derek left and with him gone, the lights were taken as well.

Stiles let the upper part of his hand lie on the floor with the wrongly angled forearm as he lay there, crying and shaking with pain. How could this be happening? What had he done to deserve any of this?

He was sure he had lain there for hours when Stiles decided to take matters into his hands. He aligned his body with both parts of the arm so that even though the elbow was dislocated, they were almost straight. He flinched every step of the way, cursing Peter: cursing Derek: cursing his life.

He breathed shallowly from his mouth, readying himself for what he was about to do. He'd seen Melissa set shoulders before. He’d seen her fix Scott’s nose and smoothen out people’s backs. How hard could it be to try?

Crack!

"AARRRRRRRHHHHHH!" Stiles wailed, noting that it hurt worse now that he had "fixed" his elbow. He could not concentrate from the pain. His thoughts flew about in confusion, and he was delirious in agony.

Stiles lay on the floor for what he thought was a whole day before the lights appeared in the corridor again. As the keys rustled around in the gate, he got to his feet as fast as he could, not wanting to show anymore weakness. He had to hold his right hand with him left because even though the comfort was minimal, it was better than the pain that seared through him when he let the right hand alone.

Peter entered, surprised that he was standing.

 _Peter: 1. Stiles: 1,_ he thought, as he pettily kept score.

"You're standing." He looked at his arm. "And your hand's not broken anymore. Congratulations."

"You think you can break me?" Stiles laughed.

"You're a fighter." He said and Stiles was sure he heard a tint of admiration in his voice.

"I'm so much more than that." He said.

"I don't disagree." He said. "What is your name?"

"How about I'm-not-telling-you-a-damn-thing-till-you-take-these-cuffs-off?"

"You still need convincing?"

"Bring it, creep."

"Break his hand again." Peter said to Derek, staring right into Stiles’. "The same one."

Stiles took a few steps back and rammed into the wall, still clutching his right hand. At this rate, he'd never be able to use it again.

"STOP! DON'T COME NEAR ME! STOP!!!" He screamed and cried as Derek came forward.

"Derek?" Peter said.

"Yeah."

"Bones, this time." He said. "Don't just break a joint that he can reset."

"You two. Hold him down!" Derek said and two boys came in. One was empty handed but the other one had what appeared to be of very hammer-like features. It had a long handle but the head was made up of a flat surface with differed shapes underneath. One side was a block shape and the other had dangling needles.

"Don't touch me! DON'T TOUCH ME!"

The attendant with the device handed it to Derek as both men came and held Stiles down.

"Stop this!" Stiles continued to say.

"His right arm." Derek said.

They lay Stiles down on his belly as he continued to wriggle as if it would help. One man placed his left hand behind his back and knelt down on the hand, limiting Stiles' movement. The other one put his right arm in front of him and did not require much exertion as the arm hurt Stiles too much to move anyway.

"Out of my way." Derek hissed.

Stiles watched as the hammer came down on his hand, shattering his fore-bone into pieces. Before he could even register the pain, everything around him went dark and he fell into unconsciousness.

*********

When Stiles came to, it was to the very familiar sound of footsteps arriving at his cell. Yes! He had begun to think of the cell as his own because it was becoming more and more obvious that he would not be leaving anytime soon. His eyes fell on five plates by the gate and wondered if he had been unconscious for five days or if he was brought food three times a day.

The gate opened, more light entered the room and Stiles saw his hand as he was turning his head to look at Peter.

He screamed again!

"What have you done to me?" He cried.

His hand was not only broken but in the time that he had fallen unconscious, the fracture had graduated to inner wounds and become a large, infected, swollen mould on his hand. Pus oozed out at the area where the swelling met with the cuffs at his wrist and he suspected that if the cuffs weren't there, the swelling may have progressed more in that direction.

"Good morning to you, too." Peter said. "Now I seemed to have developed a soft spot for you so I'll ask again: do you want me to relieve you of the pain?"

Stiles clamped his mouth shut, even as he continued to whimper from the many avenues of pain he had incurred.

"Normally, at this point, I'd have beaten you senseless but I kind of don't want you too docile, so I'll settle for manners. Do you want me to heal you? I can do it… or, at least I can have my druid do it." Peter gestured at a new woman standing by the gate.

"You'll do whatever you want." Stiles said.

"But you have to seek my help or I'll leave." He said.

"Then... leave." He looked up at him and saw him smile.

He started for the door and Stiles could not believe he would really leave him that way.

"Heal me." He said, finally, unable to last another day in that amount of pain.

"What do you say when you need something?" He asked.

"You broke my arm. Twice. I should not have to beg you to heal me."

"You will if you need my help."

Stiles stared at him as he stared back and realized that he seemed to be enjoying his pain more than he hoped to heal him. The more he held out, the longer he was just going to keep coming in here to make an offer he hoped he might refuse.

"Please." He said and he saw Peter’s expression falter. He really had expected Stiles to hold out. Stiles felt a little of himself respect slip away.

"Get me a stool." He said, walking up to him and before he reached, an attendant had run ahead and placed one for him. "Do you want a stool?"

"Yes." He said.

"Yes what?"

"Yes please."

Another stool came for him and he was helped into it as one of the attendants held up his broken arm for him.

"Get me a table."

With a tiny table almost as slim as his arm placed between them, Stiles' arm rested painfully on it. He flinched every time Peter touched him and knew that remedy could come no sooner.

Peter gestured at the druid who entered, moving right for Stiles as she stood beside him, placing both her hands on his.

"Where's your equipment?" He asked, he asked the woman.

"I _am_ my equipment." She said, closing her eyes in focus.

The Peter placed his hand on Stiles other hand that wasn’t broken as Stiles watched branches of black, thick lines appear on his as they began running from his hand down to Peter’s where they sort of disappeared into his skin. He started to understand what Peter had meant by offering him some “relief”.

Stiles noticed the discoloring in him arm lessening as it slowly smoothened into his normal skin color. Then the swelling started to recede and this time, it felt more painful than when the discoloring was disappearing.

"Ouch!" Stiles said but Peter just tightened his lip and continued.

"What's your name?" Peter asked as the bones in him hand began to shift and align themselves.

When the swelling was gone, Stiles could see his snapped hand that was worse than after the first break. The druid sighed, opened her eyes and stepped away from the both of them.

"Stiles." He replied.

"Stiles? What kind of name is that?" He asked and Stiles realized him hand now felt fine. He flexed his fingers and found nothing but ease.

"Mieczyslaw." He said.

"Polish." He said, opening his eyes to look at him. "Glorious sword. Your father chose a good name." He said. "Does it have anything to do with what you are?”

“I’m nothing.” Stiles said.

“You’re not nothing. My god, you have the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen."

Peter lifted his hand to him face and Stiles dodged his touch. Peter scoffed.

"You misunderstand." Peter said. "If I want to touch you, Stiles, you're going to let me."

It was beginning to dawn on him that his situation read as thus: Peter was his survival and to refuse him would mean the breaking of more bones.

When Peter brought his hand again, Stiles let him touch him. And surprisingly, that was all he wanted to do. He was not trying to hurt him anymore. He was being weird but that was all.

"How old are you?" He asked.

"Nineteen." He said as Peter raised a cynical eyebrow. “Seventeen.”

"Girlfriend?"

"No."

"Have you ever been with a girl... or a boy?"

Stiles averted his eyes again, wondering at his questions when his hand was still feeling up him face.

"Have you been with a man before?" Peter asked, now more pointedly.

"No." He said.

“But you want to be.” He said.

Stiles didn’t reply.

"I’d rather be your first." Peter said, dropping his hand on the tiny table as he continued to look at Stiles.

“And if I refuse?”

“You belong to me now, Stiles.” Peter said calmly, looking into Stiles’ eyes.

Stiles clammed his mouth shut. What was he supposed to say now? His hand had been broken twice in the short time he’d been here. What more could happen if he fought? He belonged to Peter. When he looked up, Peter was still looking back at him with curious eyes that mae Stiles feel utterly exposed.

 "Is there anything I can do for you?" Peter asked sweetly.

Stiles hesitated.

"Where am I?” Stiles asked, unable to hold it in much longer.

Peter withdrew his arm and punched him so hard in the face, his head snapped back as he fell over the stool. Before he could recover, Peter had pushed over the table and crossed his stool to grab him by the collar of his shirt and raise him till he was right in his face.

"You will ask no questions. You will seek no answers but those which I offer. Do you understand me?"

Stiles was too shocked to speak.

"DO YOU?!" Peter shouted, jolting Stiles’ senses back on.

"Yes! Yes." He said quickly, crying again.

Peter let go of his collar and Stiles fell back down to the floor.

"Now," He said. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"No. No, I'm fine." Stiles breathed, still sitting on the floor.

Peter smiled.

"Then there’s hope for you yet."

 


End file.
